Infatuation
by FallenMystery
Summary: Lily knows what an infatuation is. She's watched countless girls sighing and whispering and batting their eyelashes. But Lily isn't like those girls. She's strong. She's solid. She's... completely infatuated with James Potter. Just don't tell James Potter


Disclaimer: My horse can read the word corral.

A/N: Go ahead. Say it. I'm pathetic.

I know what an infatuation is. I've seen it, heard of it. I've watched countless girls sighing and whispering and batting their eyelashes. I've watched those same girls—or, the braver of them—running down the halls crying, or shredding pieces of parchment in a corner of the Common Room.

See, infatuation is dangerous. Infatuation is something a girl gets over some guy she hardly knows, because if she hardly knows him, he can be perfect. She doesn't know his faults, so he can remain golden—perfect to fawn over and sigh dreamily for. Girls write the names of their infatuation all over their notebooks, or pieces of parchment. If they ever become bold enough to confront said infatuation… well, hence the part about running down the halls crying, or shredding the parchment with the boy's name written all over it.

Really, all of this does have a point. The point is James Potter. Yes, James Potter. And, no, I'm not infatuated with him. Not at all. Not in the least, tiniest, itty bit.

Okay, maybe a little.

James Potter… irritating, aggravating, _wonderful_ James, with his stupid glasses and his obnoxious messy hair. Not to mention that annoying, _charming_, crooked smile. By now, I know every feature on his irritatingly gorgeous face. From his expressive brow to his mahogany-and-emerald eyes, which are framed with eyelashes that seem to exist simply to showcase those eyes. His long, almost delicate nose, down to his full lips. His strong, square jaw, shadowed in cobalt stubble. I could explain his body, too, from his hard-muscled arms to his flat stomach. I know better than anyone how his shoulders are just broad enough to balance out his narrow waist, and if they were any less broad, he'd be gangly. I know that his hands are elegant, long-boned, with strangely perfect fingernails, and that if his feet were any bigger he'd have a hard time walking.

But I'm not truly infatuated, of course.

Alright, so I am. But I honestly tried to fight it.

Once upon a time, I even tried not to hate the boy. I didn't want to have anything to do with him. I believe that there is a fine line between love and hate. Hate is a passionate emotion—and I didn't want passion to exist at all between this arrogant 'Marauder' and me. But I couldn't seem to help myself. He irked me so completely… soon into our school career, it was widely known that James Potter and Lily Evans hated each other. I became comfortable with the knowledge, though. I mean, I simply _hated_ him so much that I couldn't fathom how there could ever be any sort of romantic spark between us.

Fifth year was when the hormones really kicked in between us.

Suddenly my rival was my… well, stalker. Arguments about nothing became arguments about _us._ The moments we'd used to tear into each other simply for something to do became moments of me tearing into James about him asking me out or declaring his undying love for me.

Even then, with him being so lovesick over me, I never really _looked_ at him. And I mean that in all honesty. The thing is, I knew he was gorgeous. Half Hogwarts was in love with him, after all. Trust me; I was completely aware of his good looks. But I didn't really _know_ what he looked like. It wasn't all that difficult.

I simply never looked at him. Well, I looked at him, of course, but I never _looked_ at him.

Whenever I looked at James Potter, it was mostly a scathing, annoyed glare because we were fighting, or he was being a git, or a smart-ass, or a prat. In those moments, my eyes simply slid over his features. I never paid attention to his looks, except to discern that, yes, he was James Potter. Whenever I looked at him for longer periods of time, I somehow ignored the fact that he was handsome. Now days, I have _no idea_ how I ever managed such a thing.

It was probably a defense mechanism. There was a lot of heat between the two of us. Angry heat, yes, but heat nonetheless. If I had been aware of him physically… God only knows how fast I might have succumbed to his charm.

It was sixth year when I finally started giving in.

In my defense, anyone would have had to.

I stepped onto the train, having already put my luggage up, and ran smack into someone. Someone who was approximately 6'2" and 174 lbs with raven-colored hair and lovely hazel eyes. Our collision knocked me backwards, and I teetered dangerously on the top step. Instantly, James's long arm flashed out to catch me, hooking around my waist and pulling me solidly upright again.

Flush against his body.

And the only thing I could do was stare up at him with wide eyes. That, of course, was the first time I really noticed his looks. Like I said, anyone would have to.

"All right, Lily?" he asked, ducking his head a bit to meet my eyes.

Lily. He called me _Lily,_ for God's sake. "Fine," I said faintly, fairly staggered. He gently lowered his arm and stepped back.

"How was your summer?" he asked, taking my book bag for me and leading me down the hall.

"Fine," I repeated, entranced. Who the _bloody hell_ was this, and what the _bloody hell_ had he done with James Potter? "Yours?"

"Pretty good. It's nice to be going back though, you know?" he said, opening the door to an empty compartment. Unthinking, I followed him in. Did he just say it was _nice_ to be going back to school? This was not James. This was **obviously** an alien body snatcher, here to kidnap me or take over the world or destroy the human race.

And I'm normally pretty rational.

But, then, James is normally a jackass.

A few months later, I was sitting at a low table in the Common Room at about 2 a.m. with all of my school work spread out in front of me, frantically writing three essays at one time. I had been sick, and I wanted to get all of my work in on time. By this point, I set my quill down and held my head in my hands, massaging my temples and fighting back frustrated tears. Sometimes I just _could not_ wait until I graduated.

"Something on your mind, Lily-Flower?" asked a lightly teasing voice. James appeared out of nowhere and sat down next to me, leaning back against the couch. I looked at him wearily out of the corner of my eye, not bothering to pick my head up out of my hands.

"Try the world," I muttered.

He winced and leaned forward, looking at my work. "Let me help you, then." He picked up the three essays. "Is this all you have to do?"

I snorted. "Oh, just this, and a hugely long poll I have to do, asking the student body all sorts of questions. All the prefects are supposed to do it, and mine's due in Transfiguration. I figure I'll be scrambling around during breakfast asking people stuff. Actually, I don't think I'll go to sleep tonight."

James smiled a little. "All right. Close your eyes and relax a little while I read through these."

Next thing I knew, I woke with a start, far too comfortable. I was lying on the couch—my earlier backrest—with my head pillowed on a cushion. All of my work was still spread out on the table, and I groaned inwardly. I was _so_ dead. With a feeling of leaden dread, I scooted forward to collect everything… only to find my essays complete. In my handwriting. Okay, I _know_ I didn't finish them. Who… James? Surely not.

I had woken up approximately at my normal time, so I shoved all of my stuff in my book bag and ran upstairs to take a shower. I hurried getting ready so that I might have time to at least _sort of _do my poll during breakfast.

When I got to the Great Hall, I was about to set my bag down in my usual seat when James hailed me from the Marauders' accustomed spot. "Lils, why don't you sit with me today?" he asked cheerfully. Curious as to what had happened last night, I acquiesced, sitting own next to him. I was groggy from too little sleep, and found James piling a plate with food for me.

"What _happened?_" I asked. "I don't remember finishing my homework…"

"You did," he said firmly.

Now I looked at him suspiciously. "And I _definitely_ don't remember climbing onto the couch."

"You did that, too."

"Potter, did you—"

"Did I what?" he asked condescendingly. "Do your homework for you and put you on the couch? What do I look like, Evans? Your mother?"

There was too much sarcasm and falls bravado in his voice for the fallacy to work on me. And he called me Evans, which he hadn't done since fifth year. A little flattered and more than grateful, I scooted closer to him so that our arms touched. He didn't say anything about it, but his grin got a little wider and he looked pleased as a popinjay. We didn't actually talk much more to each other that morning.

I didn't do the survey—it had totally slipped my mind. At least, it slipped my mind until first hour Transfiguration. When McGonagall asked me for it, the bottom dropped out of my stomach. Oh God. Never before had I failed to do—anything! I gave a really squeaky reply and began rifling through the parchment in my bag, as if a survey might suddenly appear.

Strangely enough, one did. And, yes, it was written in my handwriting, just as the essays had been. White-face, I walked to McGonagall's desk and handed it to her. She took it as if it were an everyday, ordinary sort of thing. Oh, if only she knew. Walking back to my own desk, I caught James's eye.

He winked at me.

I smiled brightly and let him know he had just sort of saved my life.

From that moment on, James and I became friends of sorts. Which, let me tell you, was cursed inconvenient. It was one thing to be a _little_ infatuated when we hardly spent any time together. Now, however… now we hardly spent any time _apart._

I eventually figured out how James had finished my essays for me. He had to be an accomplished forger, after all. That just sort of seemed to go with him being James Potter. So, he'd apparently used his excellent forging skills to my benefit. I was still trying to figure out how to thank him without him knowing I was thanking him. I didn't want to openly admit that I was in his debt, after all.

Even if I was infatuated.

At that exact moment, James flopped over the back of the couch I was sitting on, looking up at me upside-down. I ruffled his hair teasingly. Not that it did much.

I turned a page in my Charms book, intent on the words, and he stole my right hand, tracing over the lines on my palm in an infuriatingly ticklish way. I tried to tug my hand away, but he held it firmly. Finally, I looked down at him. "What do you want?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

James gave me a very serious look. "Lily, I have something important to tell you."

I put my book aside and looked at him with all of my attention. "What's up, James?"

His hazel eyes took on a dreamy cast. "Lily Evans, I am totally, irreversibly and irrevocably, head-over-heels in love with you."

Fortunately, I knew James well enough that I didn't take him seriously, when pretty much any other girl in the castle might have fainted at the moment. "Oh James," I said faintly, playing along. "Don't trifle with my poor maiden's heart! I just couldn't stand it if you were lying. Do you _really_ love me?"

"Yes," he said gravely. "And I think I shall have to kidnap you and have my way with you."

I swallowed a giggle, not wanting to ruin his moment. "But Mister Potter!" I gasped. "I am a proper young la—aaaaaaaaaaah!" James had leapt up, grabbed me, and thrown me over his shoulder. "You caveman! Barbarian! Put me down this instant!"

And thus James kidnapped me. And had his way with me. Well, not really. He took me to the kitchen and we had some really delicious chocolate treacle. So I had to sit there and watch James Potter eating chocolate. James Potter. And chocolate. Together. I'm surprised I had the presence of mind to make my fork find my mouth.

So, yes, when I got back to my dorm, you'd better believe that I sat down in a corner and wrote his name on a piece of parchment like a hundred billion times. Even worse, it wasn't until that moment that I realized how far gone I truly was. And with that revelation, I realized that I was in _big_ trouble.

I mean, I'm me. And he's… James Potter. Arrogant, bullying, childish James, who I've sworn to loathe for all eternity. Which makes this most inconvenient, as you can imagine.

However, suddenly I was being forced to take back this oath. There was no longer any reason for me to loathe James.

I'm not like other girls. You won't find me running down the halls crying, or shredding pieces of parchment in a corner of the Common Room. I'm better than that.

With a sigh, I lit the James Potter Paper on fire, watching it burn with utmost relish. See, one down. Now I can't sit in a corner of the Common Room and rip it to shreds. In fact, watch me fling the ashes out the window.

Like I said, I'm not like other girls. I mean, they may be infatuated with James as well, but I… Oh, God, there's no witty retort to that. I'm screwed, and I know it. I might as well admit it.

I am infatuated with James Potter! There. I said it.

"Hey, Lily!"

I slammed my window shut and straightened my hair before opening my bedroom door. "What's up, James?"

I think it's safe to assume that you _know_ what happened next. I mean, even I should have suspected it. James kissed me.

James Potter.

Kissed.

Lily Evans.

_Infatuated_ Lily Evans.

And he kisses very, very well.

"Um, what are you doing?" I demanded when he pulled away.

James grinned stupidly, and I realized he was wearing his Quidditch practice clothes. "Well, I was out flying, and all of a sudden it hit me."

"And what's that?" I asked nervously. Wordless, he reached up and ruffled his hair. Dust flew everywhere, along with little leaf-like things. "I'm conf—" Oh… oh I wasn't confused after all. Not dust. _Ash._ And the little leaf-like things… yeah, not leaves. Very small paper bits.

Oi vey.

James held out his hand with a smirk. "Do you know how this wound up in my hair?"

I swallowed and took the piece of paper warily. It was probably the biggest piece left of the paper, and it had _JamesPotterJamesPo_ written on it in what was undeniably my handwriting. I'd been trying to save space, okay? Anyway, James always teases me about my obsessive compulsive handwriting, so there's no way he could be confused about _who_ wrote his name all over a piece of paper… then burned it.

Although, I don't know why I'm even thinking about this. James kissed me, which sort of translates to… he figured it out. And he asked me a question… like a long time ago.

"Um, well… it was a piece of paper… which I burned… and threw out the window. Apparently into your face."

"My hair," he corrected. "So, Evans, does this mean—"

"Oh, shut up, you prat!" I snapped.

Then I kissed him.

And, no, I did not wind up running down the halls crying. Take that, infatuation!

A/N: Yeah, I was going to end it _before_ the clichéd snogfest ending… but I decided not to. It was boring. And unsatisfying. So instead I wrote this. Lily and James. Snogging. Yummy.


End file.
